A Storm Is Coming
by Lutalica42
Summary: When there are people with god-like powers in every city and town, life as we know it depends on their self control... so what happens when they lose it? Alfred F. Jones decided to find out. Now, the only question mankind is pondering is how to survive the rebellion of the elements.
1. Chapter 1: Listen

With the barkeep asleep at his post, Arlene Jones, at a tavern in Paris, of all places, drinking whisky, of all things, felt for all the world like the last woman on earth. Bored wasn't the word to describe what she was feeling, but nothing else really was either; it only seemed to make sense in words and even then, not really. So, she found herself talking, unaware of the man in blue, who fell through the door and forced it shut behind him, with his full wait against the wind.

"This whole world is crying and no one listens... I can hear it, though, and it breaks my heart... but no one asks me, no one ever asks me... 'cause my son's a fuck up who made everyone think I don't know jack shit about this! ...And it's my fault, oh, god... it's all my fault," She cried, her voice shaking at the realisation.

"Arlene... what do mean? What's wrong?" Francis Bonnefoy, the man it blue, asked, with a tone of worry in his voice, as he approached his old friend.

She jolted, not quiet having the energy jump at the shiver that ran down her spine, and turned to see an almost familiar face. He had scars now, deep and old, though they were new to her... but they weren't what truly shocked her.

"What happened to your head?" Asked a worried friend, not meaning the flinch but unable to conceal it; not meaning to stare but unable to take her eyes off of the fresh and bloody bandages across his forehead.

Francis smiled, in a vain attempt to calm her concerns and took his seat next to her.

"Answering questions with more questions," he chuckled, brushing of her concerns like the sleat from his cloak "Now I know where he gets it from."

"It was the hail stones, wasn't it?" Arlene pressed on.

"How did you-?"

"Alfred wouldn't say but in your line of work, you'd have other injuries if it was anything else," she explained, flatly.

Her companion faltered, not quite readjusted to the erie sense of intuition which all the elementals seemed to possess. No matter hoe mysterious he tried to be, she knew him.

"Okay... you're right, but you can't control the weather," he said, sure she felt some sense guilt over his injury.

"Yes, I can... but so can Alfred. He's more powerful than I am but he doesn't understand... this planet is a living thing... how bitter it can be when you push it... it's gotten to the point now that even he can't control it... and that's where I failed... failed my kids, failed Terra... failed everyone."

 _Weather control_. Said Francis' inner voice, beginning to wonder, as she spoke, at the seemingly endless extent of her power, only to be drawn back to reality by her despair.

"So, when you said the world was crying..?"

"I meant it. Literally."

 _Now she can talk to the planet_ , marveled the inner voice.

"But it's still not your fault! It's Alfred's," he tried to assure her.

Everyone he knew, including himself, loved that kid... but hated him too. Right now, Francis hated him more than ever. In part, it was for the sake Arlene, largely, it was for his reckless disregard for consequence but at it's core, it was a selfish hate, for his own pain. Taking a ice-spear to the head was worse than any hex he knew.

"He's my son, Francis!" Arlene snapped, a sudden fire like harshness in her throat and her heart, for the sake of her son; her old friend Francis didn't seem to falter.

"He's his father's too, you know..." Said the hunter, with a softness in his eyes that couldn't heal her guilt, as she could tell he meant it to.

"Don't remind me..." She sighed.

Francis laid a hand on her shoulder. Then, they didn't say anything, just sat there in the warmth of the fire and the sound of the rain, for more time than either could name.

"He's his father's son," the man in blue sighed, when it seemed his companion had calmed down, "with your abilities, that's a dangerous combination."

"You're not saying what I think you're saying, are you?" Arlene asked, her eyes suddenly wide with worry and soundlessly pleading.

"Of corse not!" He assured, in harsh but hushed whisper, so as not to disturb the barkeep when they were speaking of something so... Sensitive.

"I love that kid, Arlene, we're not monsters,"

"What about the other hunters?" She breathed, head and heart heavy with a sobering worry.

It was bad news, she knew, before he could even speak, by the hitch in his breath and the way his gaze fell, her own heart sinking to the floor with it. All of a sudden, it seemed that he couldn't even bare to meet her eyes.

"We don't always have to kill," was his quiet promise.

That's what made her break. It hurt to see her weep like she did... but her tears were justified and words couldn't heal them. Words weren't needed and so, wordlessly, he got to his feet, left the money for her tab and lead her to the door, with an arm over her shoulder.

As they stepped out into the strange, stormy dark, braced against the wind, his inner monologue finished what he'd started.

 _But that doesn't mean the others won't._


	2. Chapter 2: Watch

_**Fascinating**_ , said the voice in his mind, what was left of his mind.

"Isn't it?" He agreed, practically glowing despite his dead tone, as he mauled over the data by lamp light.

 _ **It is**_ , the voice affirmed. _**These aren't normal weather patterns...**_ it seemed to be laughing.

"What do you mean?" He asked, lifting his cloudy eyes from the paper to scan the outside world.

What he was witnessing, he was sure, though he didn't know he was thinking it, was the strangest electrical storm in history. The sky was black but not with any kind of cloud that man would know, for it seemed, even through his eyes, to be completely smooth and featureless, letting no starlight pass through. Instead, the only light came from long, snakeing trails of lightning, which crawled across the darkness and suddenly plunged down into the forest, all seemingly in slow motion, with less of thunderous crack than a low, rattling, roar.

 _ **It seems like the storm the professor predicted**_ , the voice replied, after a moment. It must have been watching, too, through his own eyes. He was too used to it, or perhaps too taken by it, to think of it as an intrusion anymore.

"Professor Galvani?" He asked, feeling a spike of what might have once been admiration or perhaps it was just curiosity. After all, he'd forgotten almost everything about the man, save for his name and profession; the voice knew the rest.

 _ **Yes. Who else?**_ Replied the voice. _**He may never have been able to persuade the elementals... but that doesn't mean he was wrong about their power.**_

"No," he said, unsure if he was rejecting the voice or agreeing with it. He suppose it didn't really matter.

"Big brother?" Called a familiar voice. So he turned in his seat to face it, turned at the waist, nearly compleatly backwards. No human being should be able to do that; it was unnatural and he knew. He didn't care anymore, though; his little sister didn't seem to care either.

A little while ago, a young girl, Lilly Zilwig, was lying in bed, watching the shadows of light that the lightning cast on the floor. She was waiting for the brother who shared her room, but the clock struck twelve and he hadn't returned.

So, reluctantly, she rose, lit her lantern, slipped her brothers hand gun into her pocket (just in case) and set off to his study.

Now she was standing at the door and he was hunched over his desk, in dim lamp light. She called his name, but he didn't respond, at least not the way he ought to.

"Isn't it?" He mumbled, then paused, "what do you mean?" He asked, sitting up now.

"Vash? It's... It's your name," his sister frowned.

He didn't seem to hear her, instead responding with a painfully long silence.

"Professor Galvani?" He finally asked.

"What? No, it's Lilly, your sister."

Now she had her hand on the pistol, though her voice was calm.

Another long silence.

"No."

"Big brother!?" She gasped, feeling herself starting to sink into a panic.

And then he turned around. Well, twisted, rather than turned. Honestly, it was grotesque, she could hear his bones grinding and clicking... but the Witch Doctor had told her to expect this.

She held her breath for a moment, as the lightning shadows crept across the carpet between them, only interrupted by his shadow. Then, he smiled and spoke again:

"Lilly?" He asked, rubing his eye with the back of his hand. It would have been easy to assume he was just tired. If he wasn't blue. If he hadn't just torn the skin from the back of his hand.

"Big brother!" Lily half-cried in response.

Dropping her lantern, she ran to hug him; he hugged her back, too. She took a deep breath, he smelled like gun powder and hand sanitizer, as always, even through the stench of decay. _You have to be strong_ , her memory told her.

It was a memory of him, at the infirmary, when he'd just been bitten. She'd cried, _you have to be strong, now, for both of us_ , he'd told her, then they hugged, just like this.

That was three weeks ago. She'd been to visit him everyday, even when the paralysis set in, even when the storm came. They said he was recovering, but he'd never be the same. Lilly was just glad to have her brother back.

It was only today that they'd sent him home and he'd spend all day watching the storm; she practically had to force him to eat. Vash said he was just glad to be alive; Lilly knew he was probably doing all he could not to face it.

"It's after midnight," she told him, as she pulled away, gently, from their embrace.

"Already?" Vash asked, doubtingly.

His eyes widened when he looked at the clock

"You should be in bed," he stated, looking back at his sister.

"Yes and so should you," she agreed, more sternly than she ever normally would.

Vash nodded and got to his feet, twisting his spine back into place as he did so. Trying not to shutter, Lilly extinguished the lamp and picked up her lantern.

Her brother followed her, faithfully, through the dim of the hallways, all the way back to their room but, as he was pulling his bed sheets into place, in the corner of his hazy vision, he saw Lilly lay down his pistol on his bedside table.

Before he knew what he was doing, with speed neither of them expected him to have, he had a vice grip on her rist. It made Lilly's skin crawl and her stomach lurch, as much as she hated herself for it, because the man had a grip that was steal and ice at once.

"What were you doing with that?" He asked, hearing his own heart's sickly thump as some long forgotten feeling (protectiveness or maybe greed or anger) bubbled up in his chest.

The lantern sputtered out, leaving only the glow of lightning.

The cold edge in his voice terrified his sister, as was written all over her face. That didn't calm him or shock him back to reality; his eyes were to damaged to see her expression in this faint light.

The thing that did make him stop was the voice in his head, saying **_you don't need a gun_**.

So he let go.

"I'm sorry... but you could have gotten hurt," he apologised.

It was an excuse, he knew.

"It's okay, big brother. I won't do it again, honest," Lilly promised, as she left to wash the skin and stagnant blood off of her hand.

Later, just as the was about to fall asleep, she heard her brother's voice calling her back to the waking world. She turned to face him, but even with the strange lightning, his face was in shadows.

"Lilly," he said again, "what's my name?"

"It's Vash; Vash Zilwig."


End file.
